The Recruit
by the archduke
Summary: Someone offers Sam the chance of a lifetime. It was as close to being an invisible ninja as she was ever going to get.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Rated for language and some violence.

"The Recruit"

by: the archduke

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

He was tired. Traveling for over thirty hours with minimal sleep did that to a person. He should have been used to it by now. The constant moving and irregular hours had been a part of his life for so long that he didn't really remember any other way. He should have been asleep, catching up on all the missed hours so that he would be ready for the next day. Plans had been made and it seemed that the next week had been scheduled down to the minute. But here he was, suffering from jet lag that caused him to be up at three in the morning, wandering around the living room, tired but wide awake.

Not wanting to disturb those people who had been able to fall asleep, he left the overhead lights off, thinking that the table lamp would be enough. But he couldn't figure out how the damn thing turned on, and after ten minutes of fumbling with it in the dark, he gave up and pulled out the tiny pen light he kept on his keychain. With it's weak illumination, the living room transformed from the whimsical living space it had been in the daylight into a sort of house of horrors. Giant robots, randomly blinking lights, the occasional squeak or hum coming from different parts of the room all combined with the otherwise silent night to give him goosebumps. He must have been really tired for his mind to go into such a ridiculous direction.

Abandoning the living room, he made his way to the breakfast bar. He lifted the objects lying on the countertop, examining first the textbook open to a page filled with equations. Pre-calculus. Then he picked up the tiny box that he had been shown earlier, once again marveling at the tiny latches and springs that held it together. He was so proud of them both.

Looking at the clock and doing some mental calculations, he realized that he was probably still awake because this was the time he had eaten lunch for the past three months. Maybe a quick bite would settle him and allow his body to relax so he could finally get some sleep.

He was just opening the refrigerator door when he heard it. There was a slight scraping sound coming from the direction of the front door. He had gotten the refrigerator door closed when there was a slight click and then the knob was turning. Someone was opening the door, and all the people who had permission to open that door in the middle of the night were currently inside. Instinct took over and he crouched down and out of sight behind the bar. His heart was thumping and he was no longer tired.

Gathering his training, he let his mind go into that clinical mode that was so important when he did his job. He sharpened his hearing, listening to footsteps and trying to determine in which direction they were going. He heard the door close, three soft steps, a rustling, then silence. He waited, counting the seconds in his head. He got to thirty seconds and there was still silence. Whoever had broken in was good, a professional, and he cursed himself for losing track of the intruder. They could be anywhere, doing anything, and he was sitting and hiding like a coward.

He tensed his muscles, readying himself to slowly make his way around the left side of the bar so he would have a view of the living room and front door. He was hoping that the intruder hadn't left the living room area, thinking that there would be some valuables among all the knick knacks and brick a brack.

He edged his head around the bar when his face exploded in pain. He lifted his hands to clutch at his nose, where all the pain was concentrated. But before he could even get them to shoulder level he felt hands at his collar, presumably the same hands that had broken in and punched him in the face. He was jerked up and off balance from his crouch, and then he felt his body flying through the air, tumbling head over feet. He landed on his back, too disorientated to know his exact location. His arm was then twisted in a way that forced him onto his stomach, his tendons and muscles and bones straining against the unnatural way his arm was being pulled.

He felt a surprisingly small shoe against his face, and he must have made some unconscious noise because a low voice said, "Shut the hell up, fudge nugget, or I'll snap your arm clean off." He became perfectly still even though the pressure was causing hot pain to travel all along his arm. This had all happened in a matter of seconds.

There was yelling, the intruder was calling for Spencer and telling him to call the police, but how did this professional criminal know Spencer? His nose was throbbing and his arm was on fire and he couldn't think straight, which was the most upsetting. He was trained to maintain his wits in any situation, but his mind was racing and sluggish and Jesus, his arm was killing him!

Then he heard Spencer's voice, sleepy and confused, but he couldn't make out his exact words. The overhead lights came on, and Spencer's voice became clear.

"Sam, let him go! That's my dad!"

Immediately, the shoe was taken off his face and his arm released. He groaned in relief, the burning lessening, but he would definitely feel the pain for a few days. Spencer was by him now, asking if he was okay, and helping him to turn over onto his back. He felt wetness on his upper lip and realized that his nose was bleeding. He let Spencer prop him up against the coffee table. He had been thrown halfway across the living room.

He blinked his eyes a few times and when they came into focus, he saw the intruder. A slip of a girl, smaller than his own daughter, with golden curls and wide eyes stood before him. He saw her swallow and her face turned bright red.

"Hello, Sam. It's been awhile," he croaked. What else could he possibly say? This was maybe the most embarrassing moment of his entire life.

Sam opened her mouth and a breathy expletive escaped. Then she was gone.

A/N 2: Sam performed a jujitsu throw on Mr. Shay. I had to think back to when I was taking jujitsu (I had a colored belt!) and I think it's pretty accurate - though I did keep it vague to be on the safe side. It's been a few years. The twisting arm thing definitely hurts. This will be a multi-chapter, so there will be more coming up.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Rated for language

Disclaimer: Not mine.

"The Recruit"

by: the archduke

He got to sleep only after Spencer had spent an hour fussing over him. No matter how many times he tried to reassure his son that he was fine, that his pride was the only thing that suffered any permanent damage, Spencer wouldn't listen.

"Dad, I really think you should see a doctor. The emergency room is only seven minutes away at this time of night. You were bleeding!"

He didn't ask why his son knew exactly how long it took to get to the emergency room at four in the morning. Instead he adjusted the ice pack on his shoulder and gave Spencer a fatherly glare.

"I'm not bleeding anymore. And there is no way I'm going to the emergency room because of a sixteen year old girl. What am I supposed to say when they ask me what happened? That my daughter's best friend sucker punched me and practically knocked me unconscious? I'm in the Navy, for Christ's sake!"

Spencer gestured with his hands in a pleading manner. "But it was Sam! They know her rep down there. They'll be glad you didn't get your nose broken. She must have used her right hand. Her left is the one she uses for punchin'." Spencer swung his left hand through the air in an awkward cross.

He gave Spencer an incredulous look. "She has a rep at the emergency room? She has a punchin' hand? Exactly what kind of friend does Carly have?"

Spencer's eyebrows jumped practically into his hairline. His son realized that he might have said too much. "Let's not worry about that now. You're tired, it's been a long day, I've wiped all the blood off the floor. Let's try to get some sleep, yea?"

Spencer looked so hopeful that he didn't have the heart to press him for more information on Sam. At least not right then. "Fine. I think that aspirin has finally kicked in." He took the ice pack off his shoulder and gave it an experimental rotation. Still pain, but not as bad as it had been.

"Great! Come on, I'll help you to bed." Wonderful, not even fifty yet and his son was treating him like an invalid. He let out a sigh but let Spencer guide him to the futon that was set up in his bedroom. He lay down, assured Spencer once more that he was alright, and closed his eyes. He was finally able to sleep.

The next morning he had to tell Carly what had happened. He tried to play it off, but he didn't think it worked.

"Oh my god, Dad, I am so sorry! Are you hurt? She didn't break your nose, did she? It doesn't look broken, like Mike Fletcher's did after she punched him. He had to get surgery to fix it, but yours looks fine. If I've told her once, I've told her a hundred times: it's rude to punch someone when they aren't looking!"

Carly said all of this very fast and with various facial expressions. His children sure were animated.

"Like I said Carly, I'm fine." He gave her a little pat on her shoulder to reassure her. "But I am a little worried about you. And who you associate with."

Carly's eyes widened. "Oh." She looked down and fiddled with her fingers. "Sam's not usually so . . . well, okay, she is usually this violent. But from what you told me I'm pretty sure she thought you were a burglar, so when she punched you and flipped you she thought she was protecting us. You can't blame her for that, can you?" She looked up at him with doe eyes that implored him to agree with her.

"I suppose not." He was such a softy when it came to Carly. "But I'd still like to know-"

A knock at the front door interrupted him. Carly sprang to her feet, obviously glad for the interruption. "I'll get it!"

She rushed over to the door, looked through the peep hole and then opened it to reveal Freddie.

"Hey Carly. Sam sent me over to get her cell phone. She said she left it in your room yesterday morning." Freddie walked passed the threshold then stopped. "Oh, hello Mr. Shay. How are you feeling?"

He gave Freddie a once over to make sure the boy wasn't insinuating something, but he looked completely sincere. "I'm fine Freddie. It's been a few years since I've seen you. How've you been?"

"Fine. Thanks." There was an awkward silence where they could hear Spencer's off-key singing from the shower. Carly clapped her hands together. "Well, I'll just go and get her phone. Be right back." She turned and fled up the stairs.

Freddie remained standing, swinging his arms back and forth and looking around the room as if he had never been there before. He was obviously nervous. After a few seconds, Freddie suddenly blurted out, "Sam's really sorry about last night, sir. She actually feels guilty, which almost never happens."

He saw his chance to finally get some information. "That's good to know. Carly believes that Sam thought I was a burglar last night. I would have identified myself, but I wasn't really expecting any visitors at three in the morning."

Freddie stopped swinging his arms. "She got hungry and decided to come over. Usually she'd grab something from the fridge and sleep on the couch. She wasn't expecting you either."

She just stops by the apartment for a middle-of-the-night snack? In Seattle? "I didn't know that Spencer and Carly had given her a key."

"She doesn't need one."

That was certainly cryptic. "Excuse me?"

Freddie stuck his hands in his pockets, his posture relaxing. "She can pick any lock. I've even seen her crack a safe." The boy looked proud at this.

Holy shit. The deeper he dug, the worse it got.

Carly came barreling down the stairs then, clutching a cell phone in her hand. "Sorry it took so long. I couldn't find it." She glanced down at the phone and furrowed her brow. "I guess she never got my text that you came for a surprise visit."

She then glanced up at Freddie. "Why didn't Sam come pick this up herself?"

Freddie once again started to swing his arms. "Um, she didn't want to bother you guys." His eyes darted to Carly's father. "You know how she feels about people who wear uniforms."

"But my dad isn't a police officer. Or a fireman. Or a mailman, train conductor or riverboat captain."

Freddie just shrugged. "She's been talking to that hobo on Corbin again. The one that thinks the government is out to get him. No offense, sir."

"None taken." She has conversations with hobos?

Carly let out an exasperated sigh and put her hands on her hips. "I can't believe Sam actually listens to hobos. I'm thinking of avoiding Corbin all together, because last week she put 'killer robots' as an answer on her history quiz, and that could only have come from a hobo."

Freddie smirked, then looked behind him at the closed door. "I should go give this to her. You know, before she kills my mom."

Carly seemed surprised at this. "She's at your place?"

Freddie nodded. "Showed up last night in my bedroom, smothered me with a pillow to wake me up, and kicked me out of my bed. I had to sleep on the floor. She told me everything this morning." Freddie seemed only mildly disgruntled about this. Like it wasn't the first time it had happened.

He had to confirm something. "Didn't your mother hear her come in last night?"

Freddie answered with a laugh. "Sam's an expert at sneaking around. If she wasn't she'd probably be in jail by now. They just can't make those charges stick."

"Has Sam been arrested?" He didn't really care about the answer, because at that moment something clicked in his brain. Not in the section reserved for all things Carly and Spencer, but in the part where he kept his work. The work part almost never interfered with the father part, but in this instance he couldn't help but let work intrude. Possibilities were forming.

Carly's eyes got wide and she changed the subject. He noticed his children did that a lot when they were talking about Sam. "Uh, I think Freddie has to go back home. His mom is probably worrying about him." She must have given Freddie a look, because he saw the boy open his mouth as if to say something, then shut it and let Carly herd him out the door.

"Well," Carly said as she turned back to him after slamming the door in Freddie's face. "I'm going to go, uh, do something. Just let me know if you need anything, alright?" She didn't wait for him to answer as she practically ran up the stairs.

She'd probably call Sam and tell her not to come over because he thought she was a delinquent. Which all signs pointed to her being, but delinquents weren't always a bad thing.

He went into Spencer's bedroom, making sure his son was still in the shower. He grabbed his cell phone out of his rucksack, and dialed a number he had memorized a long time ago.

"Hey," he greeted the other end when his call was picked up. "I want you to do a check. It's someone who I think has potential."

A/N 2: Not sure if riverboat captains wear uniforms, but I couldn't resist making Sam have some sort of problem with them.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Some language.

Disclaimer: Don't own.

"The Recruit"

by: the archduke

The front door slowly opened. He sat on the couch, waiting for Sam to come into the apartment. He was surprised she hadn't just barged in, since she was under the impression Carly would be the only one home. The incident of two days ago must have made her skittish about entering the Shay's apartment.

Sam's head peeked around the partially opened door. "Carly?"

He gave her a smile and a little wave.

Sam's head disappeared behind the door. A few seconds passed before she entered the apartment, leaving the door open behind her. She was leaving herself an easy out. Smart.

"Hey Mr., er, Captain Shay. Sir. Carly said she wanted to talk. She upstairs?" Sam rubbed her hands together, looking towards the stairs with hope. He guessed she didn't want to talk about the whole 'beat up Carly's dad' fiasco.

He ignored her question. "You girls have got to be more careful with your phones. Anyone could just pick one up and send a text message, pretending to be someone else." He took Carly's phone out of his shirt pocket and tossed it to Sam.

She caught it instinctively and looked at him with shock when she realized what it was.

"You sent the text?" she asked.

"Yup. Carly and Spencer are out getting groceries."

Sam glanced behind her as if she was going to run for it, but she didn't make any other moves. "Geeze, not again," she whispered before she turned back to him.

A transformation seemed to come over her. Any nervousness disappeared, and she stood before him, arms crossed over her chest, hip checked to the side, and a smirk on her face. Taken all together she presented a perfect picture of teenage rebellion. She wasn't backing down in an unknown situation. Good.

"It doesn't bother you that I can bench press you, does it?" he asked in curiosity. Her confidence seemed to fill the room.

"You're not so tough. I should know. Sir." That might have been the most insincere 'sir' he had ever heard in his life.

"You can drop the 'sir.' Mr. Shay is fine."

She shrugged. "Whatever. So what's happenin', Captain?" She looked amused, so he decided to cut to the chase.

"You are a violent, disrespectful delinquent, and I don't feel totally comfortable with you as my daughter's friend."

Sam uncrossed her arms and clenched her fists. She slammed the door shut behind her. She looked livid. "You don't know anything! You show up a couple of times a year and think you know best? Bullshit! Why don't you just go back to playing with your submarines and leave the rest of us alone!"

He ignored her and continued as if she hadn't shouted at him. "But you inspire loyalty in my kids and Freddie. They think of you as family. And you must care for them if you were willing to risk your neck against someone who you thought was a burglar."

"Wasn't much of a risk," she mumbled. Her anger was now mixed with confusion. She gave him a glare, wordlessly ordering him to make sense.

"How did you now I was behind the bar?" he asked. It had been bothering him for the past two days. He needed an answer.

He had thrown her off course again. "Wha?"

"How did you know to," he had trouble getting the next part out, "punch me, two nights ago?" That would never stop stinging.

"Oh." She shrugged again as if it were nothing. "There was a mini-flashlight on the counter. It was pointed towards that big pot over there," she pointed to the cart in the kitchen, next to the back door. "I saw you in the reflection."

His eyebrows rose. He must have left his keychain light on the counter when he hid himself behind the bar. "Clever."

She sent him a cocky grin. "Yeah."

She had natural instincts. With training she could become very good. He was making the right decision.

"What are your plans after high school?" he asked.

She must have gotten used to his abrupt changes of subject, because she answered without hesitation. "Dunno. Still another year left. Just enjoying the ride."

"No college?"

"Four more years of school? No way. Probably end up joining the family business or something."

"Is that what they're calling theft and fraud these days?" he asked. He knew her entire family history, from absent father to convict cousins.

She didn't seem offended. "Beats working in an office all day."

This was it. He had to frame this just right. "What if I offered you a job?"

She laughed as if he had just said something ridiculous. "Me? In the Navy? Don't think so. My therapist says I have issues with authority. And that I don't play well with others."

He knew about the therapist the school was sending her to. It was all in the background check he had ordered. It was surprisingly long for someone still in her teens.

"I'm not talking about active duty. You have special skills, Sam. Skills that can be used to serve your country." He stood up from the couch and put his hands in his pockets, his pose relaxed. "I work for military intelligence."

"Isn't there some joke about that? Freddie tried to tell it once, and he ended up with a face full of oatmeal, it was so lame. And I already told you, I'm not joining the military, so you can find some other idiot to get shot at." She must have tired of the conversation, because she started towards the kitchen. "I need some real food. The only thing Freddie's annoying mom had in their fridge was vegetarian junk."

He spoke before she reached the kitchen. "I can make you into an invisible ninja, Sam." He was hoping this would get her attention. It worked.

She spun around. "What? Who told you about that? Carly said she'd never-"

"Part of my job is to know things that other people don't want found out."

"What does that mean?" she asked.

"I'm a recruiter. I find people with potential and determine if that potential is useful. And I see a lot of potential in you."

She held up her hands, gesturing for him to stop. "Okay, what are we talking about here? Just say it in plain English."

"Sam, I think you'd make a hell of a spy for the United States government."

**A/N 2:** The military intelligence joke isn't really a joke. It's sometimes given as an example of an oxymoron. Some say "military" and "intelligence" are two contradictory terms. I can see Freddie trying to make it a joke. And it being lame.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Short, but that's all I got. The next chapter is actually an outtake to a sequel to this story that will never be written. Maybe it's mean to preview a story that won't exist, but it's something fun. It's set in the future and is a scene from one of Sam's missions. Her most important mission ever.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

"The Recruit"

by: the archduke

_One Year Later_

He stretched out on the futon in Spencer's room, finally able to get off his feet. It briefly crossed his mind that it was a bit unfair that he didn't have a bedroom in the apartment even though he was the one who owned it. But he wasn't really around enough to merit his own bed, let alone a room. Anyway, the futon was pretty comfortable. He'd slept in worse conditions.

It had been a good day. Carly and her cohorts had graduated, his brilliant daughter in the top ten percent of her class and already accepted at Berkeley. Freddie was staying local at the University of Washington. After talking with Mrs. Benson for a few minutes, he was surprised she was even letting the boy that far out of her grasp. Spencer had insisted on taking way too many pictures, surreptitiously wiping at his eyes every once in a while. It was probably for the best his soft-hearted son had quit law school and taken up art.

Sam, though, had been strangely absent. He had seen her at graduation only when her name had been called. She had strutted across the stage, grabbing her diploma out of Principal Franklin's hand and giving him a seemingly bone-crushing hug. She had then turned to the assorted teachers sitting on the stage and said something that he couldn't hear but had made several of them gasp in indignation. Finally, she faced her classmates and the rest of the audience and let out a "Woo, hoo! Later, suckers!" She had treated her graduation as she had her entire high school career: with disrespect and disdain.

Sam had posed for a few pictures with her friends, but she disappeared before he had a chance to talk with her.

He needed to talk with her. When he had offered her the opportunity last year to make something of her life, he had refused to listen to her answer, telling her to think about it and give him her decision after she finished with school. A teenager's mind could change a thousand times during a year and he didn't want her to make such an important choice on a whim.

During that year he had tried to get information on her from Carly when he called to check up on her and Spencer. But in the last few months Carly had been wary of his questioning, wondering why he had taken such an interest in Sam. Since he couldn't tell his daughter it was because he wanted to help her best friend in becoming a world-class covert agent for the government, he mentioned platitudes about wanting to be more involved in her life. He didn't think Carly believed him. He was never much of a liar, a roadblock that had prevented him from becoming an agent and which relegated him to the roll of recruiter.

He sighed into the dark room. Sam must have changed her mind, maybe deciding that a life of crime suited her more than serving the common good. He toed off his loafers in an effort to get more comfortable, when he noticed a piece of paper fall out of his right shoe. He had no idea how it had gotten in there. He picked it up off the floor and unfolded it.

_"Answer is yes. When do I get my gun?"_

He smiled. He had high hopes for Sam Puckett.


	5. Part of the Sequel That'll Never Happen

A/N: A little bit of Sam/Freddie sneaked in here, but just a tiny, vague reference. Remember, this is just an outtake of a larger story that will only ever exist in my head. Set around 10 years in the future after graduation. Revolves around the chip in Freddie's head, which I think is a plot point that gets no mention in fanfiction. It's canon! And the main villain is supposed to be an uber-cliche. Think of him as a typical villain in a typical spy movie and his corny dialogue and plan makes much more sense.

Disclaimer: Don't own.

"An Outtake from an Unwritten Story"

by: the archduke

Sam just let him talk. She probably couldn't have made him shut up if she tried.

"You've been a thorn in my side for a long time now, Sam Puckett. Disrupting my shipping routes, maiming my best men, raiding my safehouses. You thought you could bring my organization to its knees. Well you're wrong! You're the one who'll be on her knees - begging me for mercy!" He pointed a finger towards her, his face mottled red and white with rage.

Sam smirked. A flippant attitude always riled people up. "Don't forget when I tackled you when you tried to pull that car scam on us back in the day. Good times."

Nevel let out an inarticulate yell of frustration. Yup, he was definitely riled up. Sometimes her job was more psychological than physical. It had taken her awhile to figure that out. Sam kept on the pressure.

"No, seriously. I much prefer trying save iCarly than trying to save the world. Not that iCarly wasn't super important to me, but, you know, it's the world. Lots of pressure to make sure it isn't destroyed. Though you as my big nemesis after all these years is a bit ironic."

Nevel glowered at her. "I'm not trying to destroy the world, I'm trying to save it from itself by becoming its supreme ruler. Try to grasp that distinction. And that's not how you use 'ironic.' You are such a simpleton."

Sam gave an unconcerned shrug. "Then you've been beaten over and over again by a simpleton."

"Enough!" Nevel yelled, trying to regain control of the situation. "I tire of this foolishness. It's time for my revenge." Nevel glanced to his left and right, where locked in steel cages stood Carly and Freddie. Neither looked particularly happy about their situation.

Sam stood facing the other three, the gun held at her back by one of Nevel's goons preventing her from taking any action. She'd never let her nervousness show.

Nevel glared at her with malice. "In front of you, there are two buttons. One button controls the fate of your best friend. The other the fate of your government's most prized possession. Who I still can't believe is this guy," Nevel said while pointing a thumb at Freddie.

Freddie just shook his head in bewilderment. He couldn't believe it either.

Carly then interrupted, seemingly not able to keep quiet any longer. "She is not my best friend!," she cried out, pointing a finger at Sam. "Best friends don't sleep with their best friend's fathers!"

Freddie felt the need to join in the conversation at this point. "She's not sleeping with your dad. She's sleeping with Spencer." He gave Sam a look mixed with accusation and anger.

Nevel added in his two cents. "Wait, you mean you three aren't in a thing? Because you guys definitely give off that vibe."

Sam slapped her hand over her eyes in frustration. Did other spies have to put up with this sort of shit?

First, she pointed at Nevel. "You're a perv. Shut up." Then she moved to Carly. "I'm not sleeping with your dad. That's just gross." Finally, she settled on Freddie. "Spencer's married with kids. And you of all people should know who I'm sleeping with."

Carly and Nevel turned to look at Freddie while Freddie kept his eyes on Sam.

"You and Freddie? Really? Not my dad? Because that would be just too weird and I can't handle it. And while you and Freddie would be weird, like 'my brother and sister getting together' weird, it is so much less weirder than you and my dad. I was afraid I'd end up calling you mom." Carly shuddered, partly is disgust, partly in relief.

Nevel clapped his hands in glee. "This just makes everything so much more delicious!" He wiggled in his seat, unable to suppress his excitement. "Now, as I was saying before this situation devolved into a discussion of your love life, the fates of Carly and, now it seems, your lover, rest in your hands."

Sam had to interrupt. "Please never, ever say the word 'lover' in front of me again. I almost puked." The goon behind her poked her hard in the back with his gun, wordlessly telling her to be quiet.

Nevel ignored her, too excited with his plans to let her needle him. There went her psychological advantage. "You will determine which one lives and which one dies. If you press the button in front of Carly, your oldest friend, a specialized electric current will liquefy her brains. If you press the button in front of Freddie, the government will lose an irreplaceable resource when his brain turns to mush. And you will lose whatever he is to you personally. If you do nothing, they both die. You will have fifteen seconds to make your dec-"

Sam didn't wait for Nevel to finish. "I'm saving Carly. Sorry Freddie." She then pushed the button in front of Freddie while Freddie let out a girlish scream. After a moment, when he realized his brain seemed to still be in its solid form, Freddie stopped his screaming.

"Sam, what did you do!" Freddie was breathing very hard, his eyes wide with panic.

"Your killing machine doesn't seem to be working," Sam said to Nevel while she continued pressing the button that was supposed to have led to Freddie's death.

"Sam, stop trying to kill Freddie!" Carly yelled. "And this time I mean it literally."

Nevel looked very disappointed. "The button activates when I start the countdown. I didn't think you'd be so quick with your decision. It was supposed to be a moral quagmire. Now all the funs been taken out of it." He sulked in his seat while he flipped a switch on the armrest. "There, countdown started. Go ahead and liquefy Freddie's brain."

Sam gave Freddie an apologetic look. "I'll tell everyone that you died a hero."

Freddie frantically shook his head. "No, no, I don't want to die a hero. I want to live as a coward. Sam, liquefy Carly's brain!"

"Freddie!" Carly shouted, indignant.

"Sorry," Sam said. Then she pressed the button. This time the cage around Freddie crackled with electricity. A bolt shot out from the steel to Freddie's head, causing him to let out a blood curdling wail.

Sam's heart beat hard in her chest. She ignored Carly's screams and Nevel's laughter. She concentrated only on Freddie. This had to work.

A few seconds passed while Freddie's wails became more high pitched. Sam was afraid she'd made a terrible, terrible mistake when it happened. Freddie became silent and a contemplative look came over his face. He gave Sam a questioning frown and she only smiled in encouragement. He had finally figured it out.

Freddie turned to look at Nevel, who was worried because Freddie should have been a brainless lump on the ground by now. All of a sudden, the doors to the cages Freddie and Carly were in flew open. Sam used the distraction to disarm and knock out the goon behind her.

Carly scrambled to Sam's side as Freddie advanced towards Nevel. "What's going on?" she asked Sam, who now held the goon's gun in her own hand. "Why isn't Freddie dead? Did you know this was going to happen?"

Sam gave Carly a cocky smile. "Of course. I am a professional."

**A/N 2**: The End!


End file.
